“Forward now, Jimmy; we’ve a day’s start of those men with the pretty red coats. Forward to the Edge now, you and I and Cicely, and then down into Ratchet, Jimmy. This is our good-bye to Back o’ th’ Mooin. When you’re older I’ll tell you a tale about Back o’ th’ Mooin; come, take a look at it now--you may chance to remember.... Look, Cis, how it’s raging over yonder! That’s--yes--that’s at the furnaces--my furnaces--and that white steaming’s Brotherton Bog. Whew!... This is a most sinful thing, Jimmy; the poor birds are homeless now, as we are; but our home’s near Cicely, wherever she is, eh? (He _is_ like his mother, Cis!)--Come, dear; you shall rest again at the top....” It was between afternoon and evening when, far to the south, they reached the Edge. They could not yet see the great western plain, but the land fell away steadily, and soon there was nothing but the immediate foreground and the far distance. The sun sank as they rested and walked again, and the heather and the sheep were dyed and flooded with gold. The light grew richer and quieter and more serene; vapours turned the sun to crimson; and suddenly, appearing beyond a last gradual rise, the breadth of Lancashire lay spread out below them. Three miles away, among broken hills, lay Ratchet, one or two of its roof-windows still shining brightly. Far beyond it lay a russet patch of smoke--the chimneys of a great town. Violet vapours crept over all the plain. They could not see the sea in the gathering twilight. The rim of the sun dipped into a bank of cloud; it lost its light and grew rusty and died. Faintly from Ratchet came the ringing of a bell, and Monjoy’s eyes turned from the quiet vale to his wife. “Tell me, dear--when you have kissed me--do you dread to leave and to begin with me again in a new land?” “No, no; let’s go quickly,” she replied. “Forward, Jimmy,” Monjoy said; and they dropped down the winding path to Ratchet. CHAPTER XVII. THE MOON TURNED ROUND AGAIN.